


find warmth in the middle of the night

by aloneintherain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing Clothes, Texting, coping methods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 09:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11598144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/pseuds/aloneintherain
Summary: 5 times Peter was called out for wearing someone else’s clothes, + 1 time he wasn’t.





	find warmth in the middle of the night

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same universe as ‘Occuptional Hazards’ - though it’s definitely not necessary to have read that fic. You just need to know that MJ knows Peter is Spider-Man.
> 
> I’ll admit, I went through my fashion headcanons tag on tumblr for inspiration. Shout out to all the amazing people who contributed to that!
> 
> Texting names:
> 
> mayday: Aunt May  
> guy in the chair: Ned  
> bug boy: Peter  
> m to the j: MJ
> 
> EDIT: [Amazing art](https://syrenian.tumblr.com/post/165813200644/5-times-peter-was-called-out-for-wearing-someone/) of Peter in each outfit by Syrenian. Thank you!  
> EDIT 2: More [beautiful art](https://rockofgelato.tumblr.com/post/172521248433/i-recently-read-captainkirkks-fic-find-warmth) from rockofgelato. Thanks!

1.

 

It’s a bad day.

When Peter wakes, his face is wet and his fists are clenched in a torn pillowcase. Super strength is a gift that’s carried him through 18 months of superhero-ing, but sometimes, it’s a curse. A pillowcase destroying curse.

Peter wobbles into the living room. May is already awake. She puts down her mug of coffee, and pushes back his fringe, and plants kisses along his hairline. She doesn’t comment on the minute tremble working its way up his fingers, or the purple bags ringing his eyes, or the way he leans into her touch, eyes fluttering closed, savouring the gentle brush of her fingertips along his cheeks.

They eat breakfast across from each other. She tells him about her upcoming day, and the dinner she’s thinking of making, and asks simple questions that only need one-word answers.

“How are Ned and MJ?” she asks, as she collects his empty bowl of oatmeal.

“Good,” he says. He pushes his tongue against each tooth, counting them, tracing them to make sure they’re all still whole.

He once considered wearing a mouth-guard with his suit, but he already has the mask. Anything more, and he wouldn’t be able to shoot off the one-liners he’s beginning to become known for. Even if he has strange dreams that end in him choking on mouthfuls of loose teeth, he’s not wearing a mouthguard. Peter has strange dreams about most things. It’s nothing to get stuck on, these days.

“Did MJ finish that petition? The one about providing lunches for kids that can’t afford to pay?”

“Yeah.” Peter takes another big drink of coffee before more words bubble on his tongue. “The school board approved it, actually.”

“Good for her! That kid is going places.”

“Yeah,” Peter says, and has enough energy left over to continue, “she’s really great.”

Peter gets ready for school. He brushes his teeth, and combs his hair, and notes that the shake in his fingers has dissipated somewhere between waking and finishing his oatmeal. He pulls on his sneakers, the ones with tiny holes along the heels, and a faded Iron Man t-shirt.

As he’s leaving, backpack looped over one shoulder, he notices the carmel coloured cardigan thrown over a kitchen chair. He rubs a hand over his forearm, and his skin feels electric, distressingly vulnerable, beneath his palm. He pulls on the cardigan. It’s a little loose, but fits him near perfectly. He buries his nose in a sleeve. It smells like May, the rosy scent of her perfume, like fabric softener and warm hugs and his face, burrowed in the crook of her neck, his whole body held together by the strong breadth of her palms.

He pulls the sleeves over his knuckles. “I’m heading off,” he calls.

From the bathroom, May says, “Okay! I love you!”

“I love you, too!”

The cardigan carries him from the apartment to the train, to school, to class. During Literature, when the droning about Great Gatsby, or MJ, pulling faces from the neighbouring desk, isn’t enough to ground him in reality, when the taste of cement dust and copper pushes against the back of his throat, he puts his nose in his sleeve and breathes in May’s floral perfume. He lets the scent of her lead him back to the present.

During class, May texts him. Peter angles his phone under the table as he responds.

 

mayday (10:16): Did you take my brown cardigan this morning?

bug boy (10:27): no

 

In the neighbouring seat, Ned pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket. He glances at the screen, and then at Peter. He does his best to intimidate Ned using only his eyes, but Ned ducks away from his glare, and types something out on his phone. Sorry, Ned mouths.

 

mayday (10:35): Ned says you’re wearing it right now.

bug boy (10:36): you really shouldn’t be encouraging teenagers to text in class

mayday (10:36): I wouldn’t have to if you communicated with me a little better.

 

Peter slouches in his seat, sleeves folded all the way over his curled fingers. That stings. May has been on his case about the lying for weeks since she found out he’s Spider-Man. She thinks he doesn’t trust her. She doesn’t understand that he’s trying to protect her, has been scrambling to protect _everyone_ for over a year.

Maybe she’d appreciate a little bit of honesty.

 

bug boy (10:38): i’m sorry

bug boy (10:38): bad day. the cardigan reminds me of you

 

She rings him during lunch. Peter ducks into an empty bathroom to answer.

 _“Bad day?”_ she says.

“Yeah,” Peter says. “I dunno. I just woke up and… it was a bad day.”

_“You don’t need to explain it to me, sweetheart. You’re talking pretty easily, but… Are you okay?”_

“Yeah. I’m a bit better now.” He knows how much she worries, so he says, even if it means she’ll be in contact with Ned, checking in with his best friend to make sure he’s okay, “Ned is here, and he’s taking care of me.”

_“Okay.”_

“MJ, too.”

_“You can always call me if you want, okay?”_

Peter runs his free hand up and down the cardigan sleeve. The fabric bristles under his finger. “You’re doing it again, encouraging kids to have their phones out during school.”

 _“You can wear my stuff whenever you want,”_ May says. _“I’m sure it looks better on you than it does on me.”_ Peter scoffs, and she laughs before he can start arguing. _“I love you.”_

“I love you, too, May.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

2.

 

Peter slips into the spare seat at the library table with a flippant, “Hey, guys.”

Mr. Harrington does a double-take at the pink letterman Peter is slouched into. “Peter! Nice jacket.”

“Thanks,” Peter says, rubbing a grey sleeve over his cheek and sighing happily.

“Dude,” MJ says, eyeing him up and down. Her wardrobe is comprised of mostly blacks and dark greens, but she shoots him a thumbs up at the sight of the deep pink jacket. “Steven Universe. Nice.”

A few people around the table nod their agreement. Ned, mouth opening and closing, splutters, “That’s mine!”

“Don’t be jealous,” MJ tells him.

“It’s literally my jacket. I’ve had it for ages.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peter says.

Ned scowls, and pulls out his phone.

 

group name: golden trio 2.0 

guy in the chair (3:35): is this retribution for the mask thing

bug boy (3:36): i have no idea what you’re talking about

guy in the chair (3:36): you’re a bad person

bug by (3:37): actually i think it’s illegal to call an avenger a bad person :/

guy in the chair (3:38): good thing you’re an ALMOST avenger then

bug boy (3:38): you’re really mean when someone steals your stuff, did you know that?

m to the j (3:39): capitalism is a farce

bug boy (3:39): thanks mj

 

* * *

 

 

 

3.

 

“This is serious, Peter. You can’t just assume Toomes would be that nice—”

_“I know it’s serious, Ned. These guys could hurt May if he told them, but—oh. Ohhh, no.”_

MJ snatches the walkie-talkie from Ned’s hand, who splutters a protest in the background. “Peter? What’s wrong?”

_“My backpack’s gone.”_

Ned and MJ exchange glances over their Burger King wrappers. The place is mostly empty, especially for a Saturday, and they’re squeezed into a booth by the toilets, but Ned still lowers his voice as he says, “It’s too far to swing back home, right?”

_“Too far to swing there and back and make it in time for the 2PM showing. Sorry, guys.”_

“Nice try.” MJ stands up, throwing her messenger bag over one shoulder, and heads for the door, leaving Ned to scramble after her. “Meet me in the alley behind Burger King. I have something you can change into.”

 

* * *

 

 

“You should’ve just left your backpack with us,” Ned says.

“I know,” Peter says, muffled from where he’s tangled up in a hoodie. “I don’t learn.”

MJ examines Peter’s shins. Neither her nor Ned turn away as Peter changes out of his suit, and into her spare clothes. Peter doesn’t care. He’s been running around in what equates to body hugging spandex and changing in semi-public for months.

“How’d you fuck up your legs?” she asks.

Peter pulls the hoodie dress over his head. It falls halfway down his thighs, leaving his pale legs, layered with deep red and purple bruises, on display. He grimaces. “Fell off a building.”

“Dude,” Ned says.

“Web-swinging is harder than it looks! Especially when you have people chasing you.”

“Those bruises are pretty noticeable.” MJ digs through her bag, and pulls out a knotted pair of socks. She throws them at Peter. “Here.”

Peter untangles the knot, and tugs them on. They’re striped, red and white, and end well above the knee.

“You look kind of like a candy-cane,” Ned says.

“Um,” MJ says, a little hoarsely, staring intently at the strip of skin visible on his thighs, between the end of the socks and the beginning of the hoodie. “Yeah. Uh. Very dumb.”

Ned pats her on the shoulder consolingly. “You brought this on yourself, MJ.”

“What,” Peter says.

“Nothing,” MJ and Ned say together.

“Okay…” Peter wriggles his toes in his socks. “What about shoes?”

MJ leads them out of the alleyway, and into a thrift store across the street. Small leaves stick to the bottom of Peter’s socked feet. He scowls, and picks them off. “Couldn’t you have just gotten clothes from here and brought them out to me?”

“I didn’t notice it,” Ned admits.

“I wanted to see you in a dress,” MJ says.

“It’s a hoodie, though?”

“It’s a hoodie dress.”

Peter looks to Ned, who shrugs, and says, “I mean, it kind of is. A very cool dress, though. You look cool.”

Peter looks down at the faded red hoodie. It does look kind of like a dress. He runs a hand along the hem, feeling the downy softness lining the inside, and shrugs. “It’s comfortable.”

“It’s my couch dress,” MJ admits.

“Why did you have it on you?” Ned asks.

“We’re staying at Peter’s later. I need something to change into. Duh.”

“You’re coming over tonight?” Peter asks.

“We are,” MJ tells him. Ned thinks about it, then says, “Yup, we totally are.”

“Cool,” Peter says.

The shoe section is crowded with strappy heels and deflated loafers. Ned picks up a pair of magenta pumps, the heels longer than his fingers, and says, very quietly, “ _How_.”

MJ rifles through the sneakers, trying to find something that’s in Peter’s size and doesn’t stink of cat piss. Peter wanders into the next aisle, eyes skimming over a bucket full of scarves, a rack of chunky handbags, before settling on a display of boots lined up on a lone bookshelf. He pulls down a pair of floral boots. He tugs them on over his candy-cane socks, and wiggles his toes. They fit.

MJ rounds the aisle with two pairs of battered sneakers in hand. “Holy shit,” she says, and throws the sneakers back into the other aisle. One hits Ned, and he yelps, and shouts back, “Watch it!”

Peter looks down at his feet. The colourful flowers clash against the red-and-white socks and muted red hoodie, but there’s something about them that sends a thrill up his spine.

Wearing the spider suit is like pulling on a skin of steel. The solid blue and reds make him feel like something more than he is, something better. Wearing borrowed clothing is a different kind of armour; it reminds him of the people closest to him, lets him carry them around on his person. Wearing these boots, these socks, it makes him feel bigger and more confident in the same way monotone sweaters and sneakers make him fade into the background.

“Whoa,” Ned says when he sees the shoes. MJ squints at Ned like she’s considering pre-emptively smacking him, but he holds out his hands, and shakes his head. “Hey, it’s a good whoa. I like them. They’re cool boots.”

Peter ducks his head to hide his smile, but that just makes him look at the flowers growing over the toes of his boots, and his smile widens.

“They’re the best boots,” Ned corrects.

Peter’s cash was stuffed into his backpack—a fistful of dollar notes, enough for him to get into the afternoon showing of Wonder Woman—and so MJ pays for his boots. He splutters, and talks about paying her back, and she shrugs. “Keep the socks, and I’ll consider us even.”

“How would _me_ keeping _your_ socks be doing you a favour?”

MJ looks down at Peter’s legs, and Ned says, “Dude.” MJ smiles wickedly, and he sighs. “C’mon. We’re gonna miss Wonder Woman.”

 

* * *

 

 

On Monday, Peter comes to school with a new backpack slung over one shoulder, one of May’s cardigans pulled on over his _Han Solo Shot First_ t-shirt, and his new floral boots, tugged on over his jeans.

After school, he patrols late into the evening, and finishes up in the early hours of morning, stinking faintly of river water. It’s too late to shower at home without waking May. He sighs, and pulls out his phone. Maybe MJ is feeling welcoming.

 

bug boy (1:55): i stink

m to the j (1:57): you absolutely do

bug boy (1:58): ha ha. i got thrown into the river.

m to the j (1:58): again? wow.

bug boy (1:59): i think i just have to accept that getting regularly thrown into rivers is a part of my life now

m to the j (2:00): and here i thought you couldn’t get any sadder

m to the j (2:00): the showers free, river boy

bug boy (2:01): thanks, omw

 

It’s not uncommon for Peter to stop by MJ or Ned’s apartment after patrols. MJ’s, more than Ned’s; MJ is often awake, and her parents are often out. Peter doesn’t press her for details. Maybe one day, she’ll tell him.

MJ’s apartment building is only a few streets from his. When he shimmies open the window and crawls inside, she’s lounging on her bed, book propped open, wearing sweats.

“Hey,” Peter says, pulling his mask off and scrubbing a hand over his sweaty scalp. He’s almost certain he has a bad case of mask-hair.

She doesn’t look away from her book, even as she extends a hand to flip him off.

“I’m good, MJ. Thanks for asking.”

“Kick any ass tonight?”

“Oh, my god. So many asses got kicked.”

“Asses other than yours, for once?”

He pulls a face at her, and ducks into the bathroom to have a quick shower. When he emerges, stuffing his spider suit back into his backpack, she sits up, and says, “Dude.”

Peter cocks his head. His wet fringe drips into his eyes, and he pushes it back. “What?”

“That’s my hoodie.”

“Uh,” Peter says. “Nope. No. It’s definitely not. It just looks really, really similar.”

“You can’t just take away the things I enjoy. You’re not the US government.” She eyes him up and down, and Peter hops from one foot to the other. “Fine. I have a better idea: clothing exchange.”

“What?”

“Like those book exchange shops? Take a book, leave a book.” She points at the hoodie dress. “Take a hoodie, leave a hoodie.”

“I can keep it?”

“Sure, if you give me something of yours”

Peter runs a hand over the worn red sleeves. The hoodie is soft against his skin, and loose around his waist and throat, making it easy to breathe. It ends midway down his thigh. It makes him feel comfortable and sweet.

“Okay,” he relents. He really doesn’t want to part with the dress. “A hoodie?”

“Whatever doesn’t totally suck and/or have any dumb puns on it.”

“Okay,” Peter says again. “I’ll do my best.”

 

* * *

 

 

“What the fuck,” MJ says.

“What?”

MJ holds up the sweatshirt, displaying the dozens of green dinosaurs covering the shirt. “ _This_ is not your best.”

“They’re T-Rex’s!” Peter says, flapping a hand. “Who doesn’t like T-Rexs?”

MJ looks from Peter to the sweatshirt again. She sighs and shoves on the sweatshirt. It sits on the band of her long skirt, and ends a few inches up her wrist.

“Uh,” Peter says. “It’s too small on me?” MJ grins and makes a point of looking down at Peter. He’s wearing flat sneakers today. She’s wearing thick-soled boots that emphasis their slight height difference. “I regret everything about this.”

“This was a great idea,” MJ decides, and heads off to class in a swirl of cotton skirts and green T-Rexs.

 

* * *

 

 

4.

 

Peter stops by Tony’s makeshift NYC lab before school, after a quick morning patrol. Tony immediately sends him off to shower, nose wrinkled, loudly complaining about the existence of pubescent superheroes to an unimpressed FRIDAY.

“Alright, time to put that big brain of yours to work,” Tony says, when Peter comes back with damp hair, a _Stark Industries_ t-shirt tucked into his old, too-small jeans. Tony may pretend to forget about Peter’s never-ending love for free merch, but FRIDAY knows. FRIDAY makes sure there are extra Stark Industry, or Avengers, or Iron Man t-shirts in Peter’s size set aside and shipped to his apartment regularly. Peter’s classmates are starting to call him a die-hard fan, for how often he appears in class with Tony’s name stretched across his chest.

Embarrassing, but again: free.

“I thought I just did,” Peter says. “You told me I should fight smarter, right?”

“I don’t pay you to talk back.”

“You don’t pay me at all?”

Tony points at the assembled mass of gears and wires. “Get to it.”

Peter doesn’t see Tony very often, gets invited down to his makeshift lab even less so, but he’s beginning to catch on to the fact that Tony likes to shove bits and bobs at him and watch him make something out of nothing, watch Peter turn a box of scraps into something new and hesitantly innovative.

Peter’s not sure why. He’s not going to complain, though.

A half hour passes in blissful techno-babble. FRIDAY eventually interrupts: “ _Sorry, boss, but Arachni-kid has class in half an hour.”_

Peter’s eyebrows rise. “Arachni-kid?”

Tony scoffs. “He’d learn more with me than he’d learn at high school.”

Peter is already reaching for his backpack, wiping his oil slick hands over his jeans. “Thanks for the lessons, Tony. I’ll see you…. er.”

“You’ll see me when you see me.”

“Specific,” Peter says.

Tony waves a hand, and heads for the stairs where, Peter knows, he’ll disappear into the building. Tony is allergic to even temporary goodbyes.

When Tony is gone, leaving Peter to try and flatten his hair down with his hands, he asks, “FRIDAY, where’s my sweater?”

_“You didn’t bring one, Arachni-kid.”_

“Please, call me Peter.”

 _“Tony has only authorised me to call you Archni-kid._ ”

“Of course he did.” Peter spots a suit jacket looped over a nail jutting out of the wall, where a framed picture might hang. It’s too cold to go to school without a jacket, and his apartment is too far away to swing to without missing homeroom. “FRIDAY, will Tony miss that jacket?”

_“Tony has 49 different suit jackets, and has probably forgotten that that one even exists.”_

“Awesome,” Peter says. He snags the suit jacket on his way out, tugging it on over his t-shirt. It’s too big for him, length and width wise, but he scrunches up the sleeves so his forearms are visible, and shoves his hands into the silk pockets.

At school, several people compliment him on the ‘retro’ jacket. Retro is a fun way of saying it looks like it belonged to an old person. Peter takes it as confirmation that Tony is a dinosaur.

At lunch, Ned runs his hands over the shoulder pads, and says, “Okay, this isn’t yours.”

“Too stylish,” MJ agrees from the other side of the cafeteria table.

“Maybe I’m trying to be alternative.”

Ned and MJ exchange glances. MJ tucks her curly fringe behind her ear, and says, “Your version of alternative involves floral boots and dinosaur patterned sweaters.”

“The thrift store is god’s personal gift to me.” When MJ and Ned continue to look at him doubtfully, Peter sighs, and admits, “Fine. It’s Tony’s.”

MJ cackles like a super-villain, and Ned looks minutes away from hyperventilating. He coughs around his chicken sandwich, and blurts, “You’re wearing Iron Man’s suit jacket? To high school?”

“Badass,” MJ says. “You should stain it with cafeteria food and submit it as your final art project as a commentary on the wealthy’s dubious treatment of minors’ health and safety, along with government funded education as a whole.” Ned and Peter look at her blankly. She exhales, and says, a tad defensive, “Fine, I guess you guys don’t like conceptual art. Whatever.”

 

* * *

 

 

5.

 

The next time Peter sees Tony, he throws the suit jacket at him. Like FRIDAY predicted, Tony hadn’t even noticed it was missing. Tony catches it, and loops it over one arm.

“So,” Tony says, “how did it feel wearing a suit jacket worth a couple grand to high school?”

Peter suddenly finds it difficult to breathe. “A couple _grand?!”_

“Give or take. I’m a billionaire; do you think I wouldn’t wear expensive suits?”

Peter thinks about eating cafeteria brand mac and cheese in that suit jacket. Thinks about taking the crowded subway in it. Thinks about ducking through the grassy, rain slick oval, football jocks bustling around him, mid-practise, and how easy it might have been to trip and smudge mud down the slate grey sleeves.

“I think I might throw up,” Peter says.

Tony scratches his jaw, and looks up at the teenager, hunched over and vaguely nauseous. “You fight crime in a multi-millionaire dollar suit every other day, but the idea of wearing a suit jacket worth way less than that is freaking you out?”

Peter flaps a hand in the air. “The spider suit is different! I use it to help people. The only thing I did in that is sit in class and take notes and nerd out about the Justice League trailer with Ned.”

“Hey, what did I say: if you’re nothing without the suit, you shouldn’t have it. If you’re worth multi-million dollar clothes when you’re Spider-Man, then you’re worth multi-million dollar clothes when you’re Peter Parker.”

Peter peeks up at Tony. “Really?”

“Don’t make me repeat myself, buddy. I won’t do it for the US government, and I won’t do it for you.” Tony grabs the sunglasses folded on the nearby mini fridge and throws them at Peter. He catches them in one hand, and looks down at the reflective lenses, the gold frames glinting dully. “You’re worth expensive things, in and out of the mask.”

“Tony,” Peter begins, but Tony is already scrunching up his nose, and turning away.

“FRIDAY, delete the last 30 seconds of footage. That was way too sentimental. Kid, you’re getting to me. All my weird, outdated paternal instincts are going haywire and making me say out of character things.”

“I don’t really—” Peter starts, trying to hand the sunglasses back. Tony interrupts before he can explain that he doesn’t really like them, despite the sentimentality of the metaphor and Peter’s unflinching love for free things.

“What did I just say?”

“I don’t—” Peter tries.

“What did I say?”

Peter sighs. “I’m worth it.”

“There you go.”

 

* * *

 

 

The sunglasses are too big for Peter’s face. They slide down his nose, and dwarf his features. They make him look like he’s trying too hard to be cool. May chews her lip, and says, “Nice glasses, sweetheart.”

Ned stares at him. MJ bursts out laughing, and calls him a douchebag

A few days later, Flash sees the sunglasses in Peter’s locker, and scoffs. “Those cannot be yours, Parker. Who did you swipe them from?”

“Actually,” Peter says, picking the glasses up and holding them out to Flash, “my, uh, rich uncle got them for me. He’s missed a lot of my birthdays, but he doesn’t know me very well, I guess. You want them?”

Flash examines them, glinting and expensive between Peter’s pale fingers, before snatching them up. “I’m doing you a favour here, taking them off your hands,” Flash tells him, sliding the glasses on. They suit him.

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says. “Thanks, Flash.”

Flash pushes the glasses up his nose, and swaggers off to class. “You’re fucking welcome.”

 

* * *

 

 

+1.

 

Peter excuses himself after dinner, and slips into the city just as the sun has slipped below the horizon. Evening patrol starts with the aftermath of a ten car pile up. Peter spends an hour pulling apart warped metal, and hauling bloodied people out of the smoking wreckage, and trying not to throw up at the sight of pulpy, loose corpses.

The night only gets worse from there. Peter grits his teeth, and listens to Karen murmuring in his ear, and forces himself to keep moving.

Peter crawls into his room in the early hours of the morning. His arms are cold and static-y, and he can’t feel anything below his waist, and his room feels too still and small after everything he’s seen. Peter changes out of the suit, and stands in the middle of the room. He can’t get into bed, no matter how much he needs the sleep. He just—can’t. Not right now.

Some nights are good. And some nights leave him feeling like his insides have been scooped out, like his chest is an open wound and his heart is pulsing blood down his pyjamas and puddling on the threadbare carpet. Tonight is the latter.

He fiddles with his room. He picks his laundry off the floor, and gets stuck rubbing his hands together over and over again, keyed up senses tripping over the faint stink of sweat and blood that clings to his clothes, his skin. He needs a shower after a hours of heavy patrol, but that’ll wake May up, and he doesn’t want MJ to see him like this.

At the bottom of his closest sits a single cardboard box. Peter pulls it out, opens it up. A few of photos, a hard hat with _Parker_ written on the inside in faded sharpie, a half-empty bottle of cologne, and a dark blue hoodie is all the box contains. Peter pulls out the hoodie, and holds it up to his nose.

It stopped smelling like Ben months ago. But it still helps Peter to visualise Ben’s face, his voice, the feel of his palms carding through Peter’s hair; things Peter has begun to feel like he’s forgetting.

A few hours later—after Peter uses half a bar of soap in the shower; after May chews her lip as she goes through her phone’s newsfeed; after May pulls Peter into a tight hug; after Peter stashes Ben’s hoodie in his backpack, and only pulls it back on when he’s out of May’s line of sight—MJ shuts her locker a few feet away from him, and says, “Do you have any concept of what your clothing size is, or do you like looking like you’re always playing dress up?”

Peter turns to face her, fingers curled up in Ben’s sleeves. MJ gets a good look at his face, and says, “Oh, shit.”

“MJ,” Ned hisses under his breath. “Not cool. Super not cool.”

“Peter, I didn’t—”

“It’s fine.”

Ned and MJ look at each other. She scowls like they’re in Calculus, and Mr. Briggs has made another sexist joke, but Peter gets the impression that her anger is directed inwards and not at a greying misogynist.

“Shut up,” she tells him. “I was a jerk. Let me apologise.”

Peter blinks at her. He’s too tired to fight, or maintain this conversation, or even stand there in the quickly filling hallway. Every sound is magnified in his ears, and every set of eyes flicking over them makes his skin prickle.

At his silence, she wets her lips. “Uh. I apologise.”

Ned snorts. “Really? That’s it?”

“I forgive you,” Peter says, even if there’s nothing to forgive. It uses up three of his words, but it’s worth it for the little nod of acknowledgement she gives him. He’s going to have to save the rest of his words, though. He has a limited number today.

At lunch, Flash tries to get a rise out of Peter, and MJ chucks a book at his head. Ned looks at her with a new kind of appreciation. Peter chews his sandwich. He finishes half of it. It feels like an accomplishment.

Peter goes home. He forgets to take the hoodie off. May recognises it immediately. “Oh,” she says. Just that. Just a quiet, almost wounded, _Oh_.

She doesn’t reprimand him for wearing it. When he was little, Peter would steal Ben’s t-shirts to sleep in. Ben would laugh, and mess up his hair, and tell Peter not to stretch it out, even if the t-shirt was four sizes too big.

Ben never once scolded him out for stealing his clothing. Peter wants Ben to demand his things back, wants him to ground Peter until college, wants him to scream until he’s blue in the face. He just wants Uncle Ben back.

 

* * *

 

 

group name: golden trio 2.0

 

m to the j (3:58): clothing exchange tomorrow?

bug boy (4:06): what of?

m to the j (4:08): yoga pants?

guy in the chair (4:09): i bet they feel a lot like the spider suit

bug boy (4:09): i don’t own yoga pants

m to the j (4:10): i know. bring me a shirt in exchange.

m to the j (4:11): even if its too short in the sleeves i’ll be able to pull it off

bug boy (4:11): you just wanted to point out that you’re taller than me again

m to the j (4:12): i would never

guy in the chair (4:12): do you want to borrow my steven universe jacket again

bug boy (4:12): pls

 

* * *

 

 

Peter goes to school in jeans, and meets up with Ned and MJ. They’re early enough that no one notices the three of them ducking into the unisex bathroom. Peter hands MJ his threadbare NASA t-shirt and receives a pair of ombre yoga pants in exchange, canary yellow around the waist, transitioning into a bright pink around the ends.

“My mom got them for me,” MJ says with a wrinkled nose. Peter and Ned look at each other, but don’t press her for details.

Peter pulls on the yoga pants and does a twirl. They do feel remarkably like he’s wearing the spider suit. It’s tight around his thighs, but not uncomfortably so. MJ looks him up and down, and says, “This is the best decision I’ve ever made.”

“Subtle, MJ,” Ned says.

Peter glances between them. “What?”

“Nothing.” Ned throws his Steven Universe letterman jacket at Peter. He tugs it on over his _Find ‘X’_ t-shirt, and shoves his feet into floral boots.

When they emerge from the bathroom, Flash sees them, and opens his mouth. Then, he catches sight of Peter—conspicuously rubbing his cheek over the jacket’s pink torso, where its the softness, where it smells faintly like Ned—and his grin widens.

MJ holds up a heavyset book. “Try it.”

Flash glances at her. “Uh.”

“I’m so glad you befriended us,” Ned says.

Flash scurries off, nose scrunched. Tony’s sunglasses are folded in his back pocket. Peter almost wants to tell Flash who the glasses belong to, just to see his reaction.

MJ and Ned whirl on him. Peter blinks at them. He feels a little dizzy, but it’s not an unfamiliar feeling; he spends his days flip-flopping between anxiety, and bubbling happiness for his friends and family and the great, wondering existence of New York City, and the drowning hands of grief. It’s a roller-coaster he doesn’t know how to get off of.

“How do you feel?” Ned asks.

Peter catches sight of himself in the glass door across the hall. The letterman jacket is too big, and the yoga pants are garishly coloured, and the chunky boots are covered in overlapping flowers. Peter feels very pink. It’s not red, and it’s not blue, but it’s still…

“Good,” Peter says slowly, testing the word on his tongue. He feels bright, feels confident, feels like he’s carrying the colours and the memories of his friends around with him. “I feel good.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> An important note: the NASA t-shirt Peter gave MJ at the end? She totally slept in that. Just saying.
> 
> This fic was inspired by an anon's prompt: Peter wears his Uncle Ben's hoodie when he wants to feel close to him and he's starting to forget what he was like. I saw this prompt and was immediately like, _Clothes as a comfort objects, HELL YEAH._ This fic wasn’t supposed to be so long or this scrambled. Tony wormed his way in here twice, somehow; he’s doing his best, even if his best is often lost in translation or straight up unhelpful. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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